Scattered Thoughts

Isaiah 55:10-13; Psalm 65:9-14; Romans 8:1-11; Matthew 13:1-9,18-23

I've always loved this parable of the seed, perhaps because there are so many possible ways to read it.  For years I thought Jesus was surely describing us as the seed, and I listened for how I could be productive seed.  I checked my soil and did what gardening I could.  Now, that helped a little, as I developed spiritual disciplines, but sometimes I was so busy checking my soil I couldn't rest and take root.

Then I heard someone say that we are the sower, not the seed.  Now, that opened up a whole new path for me!  As someone called to preach the Gospel I liked that.  I was to scatter seed everywhere I could.  Perhaps I was to be more selective than the sower in the parable, who wasted seed by throwing it every which way?  Surely many books and articles on ministry advised me how to "target my message" and bring in a rich harvest.  Once again I had something to do, something that might produce visible results.

I didn't even notice, in these reflections, that I was leaving God out of the picture.  I was acting as though I was the agent, whether seed or sower.  Where was God?  That's still unclear to me when I look back.  Perhaps God was the provider of the seed, the agent awaiting results like a judge at the county fair.

Then last Friday we had a great discussion at coffee table communion, begun when someone said she hated this parable for all the anxiety it caused the people at her church.  Someone else went through the parable line by line and pointed out that what happens to the seed in each case is not their fault:  the seed that landed on rocky ground didn't plan that, the seed that got eaten didn't plan that, the seed that landed among thorns didn't plan that.  Even the happy luxurious seed didn't plan to be planted in good soil, and deserves no credit!

We talked about being faithful, doing our best wherever we land, and trying not to judge the results.  I thought about how none of the seed is wasted.   The seed that is eaten nourishes the birds, who excrete it and create more soil; the seed that burns up also creates a first layer of soil for later seeds; the seed that dies among thorns likewise creates soil.  It may not bear in one generation, but it enriches the earth nonetheless.  It's not the job of the seed to decide where it appears in the cycle of life.

Then, as I kept thinking I wondered: what if we are not only the sower, not only the seed, but also the soil in which the seeds land?  Is it then our responsibility to make ourselves fertile ground?  That too seems a heavy burden.  If we've been turned to stone through abuse or other trauma, that calls for compassion.  If we are burdened with family or health or job worries, that calls for compassion and gentleness, not judging.  If we are enthusiastic but lack stamina, that may call for curiosity - and compassion.  For who wants a life of flitting from enthusiasm to enthusiasm, without real nourishment?  Such a life is sad, and likely under it is some rocky ground that can't be faced.

So how do we hear Jesus here in a way that doesn't deprive us of choice and agency, but eases the burden of guilt so deeply etched into Western Christianity?  I think we can start by reintroducing God into the story.  Remember God, source of grace?

In the first letter to the Corinthians Paul discusses his ministry and says, "I planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the growth.  So neither the one who plants nor the one what waters is anything, but only God who gives the growth" (3:6-7).  God is the sower, scattering the grain more abundantly than we can ask or imagine.  And God is the seed, the Word of life that sprouts wherever it finds room.  And God is the soil, the ground of all that is.  God is.

Yes, there is a part for me in this.  My part is to worship God, to point at God, to do my best to receive God's love.  What will grow will grow, because God's love does that.  All God needs from me is an open heart.  That means not diagnosing the state of my heart; that's God's business.  I just open as well as I can.  That sounds like enough for a lifetime.

The Word of God?

Like many people, our Bible reading at daily offices has been structured by a lectionary - in our case, the Episcopal Church's two-year cycle of daily readings.  For years, for decades, we've each read these passages in their cycle.  But it's getting harder.  Now, at least for now, we're taking another road.

In the season after Pentecost we enter the grim history of Israel with.  This year we're in Samuel, and we will follow through the Kings, the exile, and the return.  This is important history, but we can't do it this year.  I won't speak for Elizabeth's reasons: here are mine.

First, the picture of God throughout doesn't mesh with my understanding of Jesus' Abba God.  This God remains quick to anger, jealous and demanding.   And though scholars today like to say that this God loves all of creation and just holds Israel to be an experiment in fidelity, a light to the nations, this history makes that perspective somewhat obscure.  You have to really work to get that.  And yes, it is a story of human failure and human striving, of God continually giving us another chance, but it is a story in which "we" delight in seeing our enemies (God's enemies) cut into pieces and fed to the dogs.  I know these stories.  I need some other wisdom right now.

The other reason this feels important is that the Christianity of the future has to meet other religions on another ground than exclusivism or triumph.  We need to learn from one another, and we need to learn to live together or all our traditions will vanish in favor of some insane, demented versions of one or another.  This summer we are reading a lot of work from other faiths or from the intersections; our shared book for this month is The Garden of Truth, about Sufi wisdom.

So for the season after Pentecost we are opening another way.  At Matins our first reading is from holy writing from many sources.  We began using Love Letters to God, a collection of writings from many traditions and times.  We're looking at the World Wisdom Bible now, and may start using that.  For our second reading we're reading the Epistles straight through.  Then at Vespers we read the Gospel appointed by the lectionary.

Again, this works for us because we have read the Hebrew Scriptures for a long time.  If you do not know these writings, don't pass them by.  They are your inheritance, they have shaped your faith in ways you do not know, and they must be encountered.  But if you have read them, if you want to broaden your understanding of God and of others, I invite you to find some other readings and make them your "lectionary" for the reason of the season until Advent.  And I'd love to hear what you decide to read!

If you share, please respond on the page here rather than email, so others can see what you recommend.  Thanks, and enjoy!

trying to be read

I'm hoping that this will not be whited out.  I'm apparently having a problem when I cut and paste text into Blogger.  If you want to read posts that have been whited out, you can highlight them and they will show up.  Sorry for the inconvenience, and thanks for reading!

July 9

Zechariah 9:9-12; Psalm 145: 8-15; Romans 7:15-25a; Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30

I'm torn.  I try to write about the Sunday readings each week, and these are perfectly good, but they aren’t where my heart is.  After my retreat, I experience Matthew as too prosaic, too ordinary.  But that’s a sign of how ungrounded such moments can make us.  I want the mountaintop, but I live here in the valley.  I’m reminded of the Buddhist saying: “Before enlightenment, chop wood, carry water.  After enlightenment, chop wood, carry water.”  A bit of grounding is just what I need.

Once I’m grounded I can see that Matthew actually links the mountain and the valley quite nicely.  He’s talking about the most daily activities, eating and drinking and being together, but he (and his critics) are clear that these activities are always full of meaning beyond the food or drink or particular people.  Context matters, meaning matters.  Here these daily activities, and the way we do them, are signs of God’s dream for the universe.  In that dream our lives here are not a “vale of tears” or a testing, but are a chance to draw near to the God who wants to draw near to us.  The point is not to measure up to a purity code, but to know God’s desire and live it by loving and welcoming one another.

This sounds clear, and welcome, but we do get so confused!  This is not just a matter of intellectual confusion; it’s about the impulses in us that don’t align themselves with our truest desires.  As Paul describes so well, and as every addict knows, we can “know” the good and still find ourselves choosing the bad.  And, so often, as we try to suppress the bad we find it strengthened and overpowering.  Truly, we need a gentle yoke.  I need a gentle yoke.

The Episcopal collect for today says that God has “taught us to keep all your commandments by loving you and our neighbor.”  And, it reminds us that this is a gift of the Holy Spirit, and not just something we can will.  God knows (and many others know), I can't do it well on my own!  Loving God, on the mountain and in the valley; loving my neighbor, in the valley through action and on the mountain in prayer: this is the work of a lifetime.

The glow has worn off.  I’m back in the valley.  But I have the memory of the mountain, and I have access to it through daily prayer and meditation.  Each day I take up the yoke as best I can, and I experience more joy than I could every expect or deserve.  May it be so for you as well.

July 6

I’m finally back at my desk.  I returned Sunday from the most amazing retreat of my life, still in some sort of shock through Monday.  Then Tuesday and Wednesday i began the gradual descent/ascent (depends how you look at it) back into daily community life.  The “ascent” idea came from comparing the process to divers returning to the surface: you have to come up slowly or you get the “bends.”  

What made it so amazing?  I think I stumbled onto union with God, my heart’s deepest desire.  I took no devices, and very little reading. (I do wish I had pictures to share with you, but then I wouldn’t have had this retreat.)  I began each day at 4:30 on the beach watching the dawn, followed by a walk through the neighborhood of river and osprey nests.  After breakfast it was back outside until the sun drove me in for a few hours.  Then to the chapel for prayer before the Sacrament, then lunch.  Then a nap, then back outside in the shade until returning to the chapel before dinner.  Then a walk, a little reading, bed.  I need sunrise more than sunset, so I went to bed before dark.

This is not new; it’s pretty much what I do on long retreat.  But I’ve changed over the past year, I think.  I was more present, there was less junk in my head to clear out.  There were no problems to mull over, no big issues to discern (well, there was one, but it became clear on the first day!).  Just being with God in creation.  And finally, the last morning, I saw it.  

It’s all one.  We’re all one.  Nothing is lost, nothing can be lost.  I am a grain of sand in the ocean of God, and that is more than enough.  Wholeness and brokenness are false oppositions.  It’s all one.  Everything is here.  I have a preference for some shapes over others, but that is just a human thing.  God sees it all.  

I have searched for this moment for decades.  I’ve read of it, but didn’t expect to see it this side of death.  I knew the words, I had the insight earlier in the week, but it was still “I” realizing it.  And perhaps that’s the point: all week I let go of “me” as much as I could, turning off the ego mind and noticing the rocks and shells and crabs and skunks and birds and woodchucks and waves and wind.  “I” can’t get there, but something - soul, Self, I don’t know - that something is already there, waiting for “I” to let go.

Now I’m surfacing, or coming down from the mountain.  “I” am returning to the dense air of the flatlands, where other people, other parts of God’s creation, live.  And i’m letting this experience work on me.  It should be an interesting year.

June 24: The Nativity of John the Baptist

First, a quick shout-out to the Community of St. John Baptist in New Jersey, New York, and England.  And to all those celebrating, including the city of Genoa (this is for you, Dario) and the province of Quebec.  Happy patronal festival to you all.

What a great day!  We get the story of John’s birth and naming, and Zechariah's song.  In the office readings we hear Malachi promising/threatening the people that God is coming.  We hear John's famous line, made for the solstice: “he must increase, but I must decrease.”  All powerful pieces of the story of Jesus among us.

But today, what really stood out for me was the verse before the “solstice sentence.”

“He who has the bride is the bridegroom. The friend of the bridegroom, who stands and hears him, rejoices greatly at the bridegroom’s voice. For this reason my joy has been fulfilled.” (John 3:29)

I don't think of John as joyful.  I think of him as passionate, zealous, fierce.  I hear the warnings to repent, the accusations against the comfortable religious leaders.  I admire him.  But joy?  No.  But today I get it.

John gave his life to calling the people back to God.  He knew that the Holy One was coming.  He knew his job was to prepare the people.  He was not the main event; he was not even the warm-up act.  He was the one who comes to clean the arena before the big event.  Well, maybe he was the cleaner and the warm-up act; certainly many of his disciples thought he was maybe even the main event.  But he knew he wasn't.  He was waiting. 

Then, one day, he meets Jesus.  He knows he's the one he's been waiting for.  He rejoices, because he sees that his life and ministry have not been in vain.  I imagine that for many years he might have wondered: is this call from God, or am I nuts like so many people think?  Then his doubts are ended.

I hear the song of Simeon here.  Simeon, the ancient one who prayed in the Temple and believed that he would see the Anointed One before he died, also rejoiced when Jesus appeared.  “Lord, you now have set your servant free to go in peace as you have promised.  For these eyes of mine have seen the Savior, whom you have prepared for all the world to see.”(Luke 2:29-31).  I imagine John might have said the same thing.  

Have you ever wondered if you were wasting your time, your life?  Have you ever known the joy of finding that your dream is being fulfilled?  

I have given years now to the quest to know God, to see God.  It can look crazy to people.  There's not much to show for it.  But I do know that joy, in glimpses and glimmers, and I know that I will know it more deeply in time to come.  And I know that in order for that to happen, I need to give way to let God be God, Jesus be Jesus.  S/he must increase, but I must decrease.  And when I fade away to nothing, my joy will be complete.

May you know that joy.  May we all know that transforming joy.  Amen.

P.S. I’ll be gone for the next eight days in silent retreat.  Please pray that I let myself be found by God.  Thank you!

June 22

Gospel for the Eucharist: Matthew 6:7-15

“Lord, teach us how to pray.”  The disciples ask Jesus how to pray, and he begins by telling them how not to do it.  Don’t pile up empty phrases.  That part makes me wince, when I think of some of the collects (prayers that open or sum up our worship) that my branch of the Church uses.  Jesus says, keep it simple.  God knows what you need.  Remember that when you ask.

Then he tells them how to pray.  First, give glory to God.  Name God, honor and reverence God.  Ask for God’s will to be done, rather than all my desires.  Let me be on board with your purpose.  That actually sounds like enough.  But we need more, we divine/human animals.

We need food, physical sustenance.  (And we need shelter and other basics, which I suspect Jesus would include in this phrase.)  We don’t need to store it up; we just need enough for today.  So ask for that.  And remember, we’re asking for “our” bread; not just mine.  Give us, all, what we need for today.

And wipe our slate clean.  Help us start over every day, with one another and with God.  Let us remember that if we forgive, we will be forgiven - by you, if not by the other person.  Help us open to your healing grace.

And save us!  With all our good intentions, we are prone to temptation and confusion.  Deliver me, keep me safe from myself as well as “outside” threats.

Notice what’s not here: the closing that we say in church, giving power, glory, and honor to God forever.  Jesus doesn’t include that (although I was horrified to see that our Spanish Bible inserts it - talk about alternate facts!).  It’s been said at the beginning, simply.  The closing is a lovely phrase, not empty but not really simple either.

What might we learn from these instructions?

Prayer is pretty simple.  Just show up.  Don’t worry about fancy words.  Don't make a whole laundry list for God, who knows what we need already.  Prayer is more about getting in tune with God’s purpose than it is about telling God what to do.

I’d love to have something brilliant to say about this, but it would seem to betray the very point that Jesus is making.  It would be empty phrases, aimed at bringing me glory instead of God.  So if I am to be faithful to Jesus’ instructions, I’ll close here.

Here’s the version we use among the Companions, borrowed from the Order of St. Helena:

Our loving God in heaven, holy is your name.  May your reign come, your will be done, on earth as in heaven.  Give us today our daily bread.  Forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us.  Save us from the time of trial, and deliver us from evil.  

May your prayers be simple, and your life be a sign of God’s power and love.  Amen.